


my mechanical heart still beats like yours

by postfixrevolution



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Artificial Intelligence!Skye, Detective Coulson and his protege Ward, Gen, Not Canon Compliant At All, writing about robots while knowing pretty much nothing about robots can i get a what what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye is the world's first artificial intelligence — or AI, in layman's terms. She lives under the guidance of undiscovered sciences detective Phil Coulson, is studied and accompanied by two scientists dubbed Fitz-Simmons, is kept in line by her pseudo-aunt Melinda May, and keeps her quasi-parental unit's apprentice Grant Ward on his toes.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>[ AU : told as a series of vignettes or drabbles (aka wimpy excuses for chapters) ]</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. living lifeless

**Author's Note:**

> And here we begin what might be a downward spiral into AU, told in the style of vignettes/drabbles. Or really short and lazy chapters, if you prefer _that_ truth. For now, I have them plotted out linearly, so let's start at the beginning.

The rumored necromancer Ward and Coulson had flown in to investigate lays dead on the ground of a half-destroyed lab. It's ironic, really, the dead necromancer part; if only the science were possible, if it were really true, then bringing the dead back to life would make investigations so much easier. Unfortunately, the man who had no presence whatsoever on DLEIHS's database is now as much a ghost as his apparent lack of identity was. Coulson and Ward would boggle over the man's lack of information later.

The half-destroyed lab leaves little guesswork to be done. The necromancer must have been a scientist, by the looks of it. Papers and experiments are burnt to a crisp everywhere, obviously the work of a flamethrower. Glasses are smashed and wires are frayed and torn and strewn everywhere. The pool of blood the unnamed scientist rests in, bruised and scratched, shows obvious signs of struggle, and it takes no genius to figure out that this wreckage was the result of some group of people hellbent on attacking this scientist for some unknown reason. He put up quite a fight, too, judging by the two other dead bodies on the floor, their guns dropped haphazardly beside them.

Ward steps carefully over bullet hole ridden steel plates, making his way closer to Coulson and the dead scientist. His body is propped against a large steel operating table; something shaped suspiciously like a body lies underneath its pure white covering. There's no blood spatters or bullet holes peppering the surface of the cover, a curious feat in itself. Ward's eyes move from the scientist with the handgun dropped near his feet to the immaculate operating table before him, and the realization hits him.

"He was protecting this," he mutters loud enough for only the two of them to hear, gesturing toward the operating table with his gun's nose. "What is it?"

Coulson holsters his gun and Ward turns half-outward, keeping an eye on the surroundings and an eye on Coulson. As the older man slowly pulls back the white sheet, Ward's eyes widen as he lowers his gun, spinning to face the table fully.

A girl lies on the table, a picture perfect version of Snow White, but with considerably less flowers and Prince Charmings and snows or whites of color. Her skin is a smooth olive, her hair is a deep ochre brown, and she's admittedly pretty.

"She's dead," Coulson announces, and Ward puzzles over the relation of her prettiness to the fact that she's dead before realizing there is none; he feels like swearing all over again. He paces the small area of floor not covered in red while Coulson checks the girl's pulse again to get the same results. Ward stops his steps in front of the table, gingerly prodding the girl's form. She's unnaturally cold but looks healthy despite the lack of a heartbeat.

"Why was he protecting her?" Ward mutters to himself, eyes following the mess of lines that led from her to a destroyed pile of machinery. Nothing stood out immediately as any type of medical device people were usually hooked up to, and an important detail about their man in question popped back into Ward's thoughts.

"Coulson," he whispers with twinge of uncertainty, "This girl — you don't think she could be... one of his experiments, do you?"

The older man examines the girl closely, nudging carefully at the tubes connected to her with the nose of his gun. One of them falls out, revealing an end that looks oddly like a smaller version of a micro USB drive's.

When Coulson hears the humming, he and protégé backpedal behind a half-burnt tower of machines, eyes scanning in panic for the source of the noise. When the girl suddenly sits up and opens a pair of glowing cyan eyes, a bullet is sent instinctively into her shoulder. She blinks and her eyes reappear a shocked earthen brown, and then the girl faints in the most robotic way ever, falling stiffly into herself and off the table with a hollow thud.

Coulson looks ready to punch Ward for shooting early, but the youth determinedly avoids his gaze and stiffly follows the man as they approach her.


	2. border patrol

Coulson slams his hands on the table, looking harshly down at Ward with a gaze that could _kill_. Ward flinches, not expecting such an intense action, and forces his eyes to meet that of his superior's. It's terrifying. The man inhales a few times, seemingly calming himself, before opening his mouth to speak. 

"Cadet Ward, what does DLEIHS mean to you?" 

Ward frowns, pointedly averting his eyes. Of course the man would call upon the cliché speech meant to spark every young recruits' sense of pride and togetherness in their cause; it's so Coulson, so disapproving paternal figure. It isn't as if Ward doesn't truly believe in his cause, in doing the protecting he signed up to do, because he does. He wouldn't still be here with Coulson if he didn't, so Ward tries his hardest to remain professional as he answers; "It means a complete hindrance because I prefer to be on time rather than dealing with delays." 

Coulson gives him a look, one of those silently disapproving and unimpressedly annoyed looks that always makes Ward sigh and stuff the sarcasm. The touch of looming threats to hinder his ability to have future children behind it helps, too; the sarcasm is successfully stuffed. 

"Department of Licensed Espionage and Intervention of Hypothetical Sciences," he amends. "Means we keep tabs on any and every occurrence of so called “psuedosciences” we know little or none about, like aliens, superpowers, anything too unconventional for the masses to properly handle. We're a border patrol between the weird and the acceptable." 

"And?" the man presses testily, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. 

"And that if we tried only a little harder, maybe we'd be able to have a less nonsensical acronym like SHIELD rather than an exact reverse of the word." 

Whoops, there’s a leak in Ward’s sarcasm stocking. The older man sighs through clenched teeth, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Okay, enough with this approach," he mutters. Sitting down, he folds his hands on the table, meeting Ward's gaze in a level fashion that's a bit more intimidating than even his previous intensity. "Tell me, Ward: does that definition, in _any way_ , include the unplanned shooting of a "resuscitated" human, especially if we don't know if they were a friendly or not?" 

Ward clenches his jaw, closes his eyes under the guise of formulating an answer when he already knew the answer. When he doesn’t reply, he can hear Coulson sigh, can feel the palpable tension leave the older man as he falls back into the chair, probably thinking again how his young charge is cutting off more and more years from his life. The young charge in question can’t find a legitimate argument as to how he is adding years rather than subtracting, and suddenly hates the way Coulson is so good at this unconscious _guilting_ thing. 

“Is she okay, sir?” he asks finally, deciding it was the safest thing to say other than I’m sorry. 

Phil Coulson meets Grant Ward’s gaze tiredly, and silently tells him he can follow along as they head to the medical bay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DLEIHS is pronounced (in my head, at least) pretty much like delays, but with a less stressed _e_ sound... So yeah; that's kinda where Ward got his sass-talk reply, ehehe.


	3. so now it's a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (but Ward doesn't like parties)

There are two young adults muttering quietly between themselves already there when Ward and Coulson walk into the medical bay. The girl has long auburn hair and a set pout on her lips as she hisses something to her partner, eyebrows furrowed in a way that is half considering and half incredulous. Her partner is a lanky boy with curly hair and emphatic hands, trying to whisper over her but seeming like he didn’t quite want to interrupt her while she spoke. Coulson clears his throat and they both start, looking up at the two of them with bashful surprise. 

“Who are these two?” Ward asks, eyes still trained on the young pair suspiciously. 

The young man steps up, offering a bony hand to the investigator. “Fitz-Simmons,” he offers, before immediately rescinding his words with a twitch of his eyebrows and a slight reddening of his cheeks. “I mean, _I’m_ Fitz. She - the girl, my partner - is Simmons. Jemma Simmons. And I’m Leo. Fitz. Leo Fitz.” The proffered hand reaches up to rub awkwardly at the back of the youth’s neck before Ward even had the chance to shake it. Behind the boy - Fitz, Ward amends - Simmons is watching her partner with obvious concern and a twinge of embarrassment; whether the embarrassment is first or second hand, Ward cannot tell. 

“Detective Ward,” he replies curtly before pivoting on his heel to face Coulson, silently asking what their two new companions were here for. Coulson steps forward, regarding the two youths amiably. 

“Detective-in-training, actually, Cadet Ward,” the man corrects. “I understand you have a desire to appear impressive before our guests, but they both already have multiple pHDs in subjects we probably can’t even pronounce the names of, so you don’t have to worry anything about that.” 

Ward blanches, Fitz looks at him curiously and Simmons badly stifles a small giggle. _Thanks Coulson_. 

"Duly noted, sir," Ward tightly replies past gritted teeth, and Simmons's amusement grows. "Now, I'd like to ask why we apparently have these two genius whiz-kids with us now, if I may." 

"Ah yes, we'll be having Officer Melinda May join us with an airbus, fully equipped for research and board, too. Thank you for reminding me, Ward." Coulson flashes him his most winning half-smile and Ward doesn't have the clearance to argue; the younger man takes it all in stride and nods. "You can expect her by tomorrow, so be ready to leave this stuffy safe house by 0900. Is that clear?" 

Simmons and Fitz nod simultaneously, offering a cheery, "Of course," at the same time as Ward blurts out, "And what about the girl, sir?" 

Coulson eyes his protégé and, to his credit, Ward stares levelly back. Then, the detective turns to Fitz-Simmons. 

"The bus is fully equipped with a lab stocked as closely to your request as possible, with a few more tools as seen fit for our mission." 

Simmons opens her mouth, closes it again, contemplates her words with a small, worried pout, and then speaks. "Um, sir? What exactly _is_ our mission?" 

"Good question, Simmons. I've yet to inform my cadet here," the man begins, earning a double take from said cadet, "but upon filing the report about the events of our recent mission, the Director decided to grant us a little more freedom here. We're to continue investigating our prior mission, as well as look into anything else that might make it into our radar. Call it a semi-independent D.L.E.I.H.S. operations squad." 

"So we're going to be...on the field?" Fitz asks hesitantly, to which Coulson chuckles quietly. 

"You and Simmons are our resident scientists; being on the field shouldn't be required often, so don't worry about it, kid." 

The boy visibly relaxes. 

"Welcome to the party," Coulson announces, looking a little bit smug and a lot bit proud. Satisfied would be a good word, Ward decides. Satisfied with their position, proud of the prospects of his team, and smug because he knows Ward doesn't like parties. 

"And the guests aren't even all here yet," Ward mumbles as he sulks off to go pack. 


	4. actual sitcom life: Grant Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on the airbus has already started, and they haven't even taken off yet.

Ward wakes up the next morning at 0600 to find a dark haired woman standing arms crossed before a locked bathroom door. Her face is set into a scowl, her onyx eyes seem perpetually stuck between blasé and alert, and she has a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. 

"Agent Melinda May?" is Ward's first reaction, and he stops cold in his tracks. He just wanted to use the bathroom before the others were up. 

Her head turns to look at him, all gym shorts and a cotton white tee, bed head and high grey socks. He feels terribly unprofessional compared to her dark violet jacket and officer-commissioned boots, the badge glinting off her left lapel. 

"You must be Cadet Ward. You do realize we're due for departure in three hours, right? You're an awfully late riser." 

Ward frowns, ready to remark about how the sun hasn't even risen yet, so most likely no one else has, but he's interrupted when Phil Coulson opens the bathroom door, dressed in his signature suit and toting a duffel full of personal belongings. 

"Ah, Ward; you're finally up," he greets with a smile, and the cadet's frown deepens. "What took so long?" 

"Sir, are the scientists even up ye—" 

"You know, Fitz, I'm actually not feeling that tired, despite our all-nighter," Simmons remarks, walking into the hallway side by side her partner. "In fact, I'm feeling rather invigorated! Our case, even without the proper research tools at the moment, is quite the mystery." 

Fitz nods emphatically. "Our subject seems to break many of the basics of biology, too. She's obviously— Oh; morning, Ward! You're up awfully late, are you?" 

"So I've been told," the man grumbles. 

"In any case," Simmons announces, "I need to use the bathrooms, but I can wait if there's a line." 

"I call first!" Fitz interjects. 

"No way! I said I needed to use them first, so I'll be utilizing the bathroom before you." 

"Ah, but you said, and I quote, 'I can wait if there's a line!'." 

"My voice doesn't sound anything like that!" Simmons pouts accusingly. "Plus, your accent is horrid! I could do a better job than you any day." 

"As much as I'm sure we'd all love to hear that," Ward interrupts, nonchalantly pushing the two farther apart, "Simmons, you can go next, and Fitz, after her. I'll wait to go last." 

"Thank you, Ward," Simmons chirps, a pleased and vaguely smug smile on her lips. Fitz crosses his arms and says nothing. "That's very kind of you." 

"You were the last one up, so this should have been the initial solution, anyway," May comments offhandedly, and Ward bites back a huff. Life on the airbus has already started, and they haven't even taken off yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this much might be evident, I've been on hiatus recently, and still am. My posting has no set schedule, but once a month will try to be my minimum. Sorry for any wait!


	5. air sickness, maybe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fitz pelts out of the bus's lab looking queasy and paler than usual, Ward knows something is up.

When Fitz pelts out of the bus's lab looking queasy and paler than usual, Ward knows something is up. 

He peers warily through the glass doors, leaning his head forward as if the stealth were somehow necessary, but all he sees is the petite brunette scientist with her back to him. She stands before what Ward is hesitant to assume is a table fitted for dissection and surgery, and sprawled carefully across the metal surface is the girl from before, willow brown hair cascading off the edge of the surface like a ligneous waterfall off the end of the world. 

Cautiously, Ward knocks on the glass door, steps in lightly as to not disturb the scientist. He leans against the doorframe, waiting for an acknowledgement he doesn't get. 

"Your partner just ran out looking like he was about to throw up the entire contents of his stomach," Ward offers, to which Simmons shows no obvious response. "Possibly even his entire stomach," he adds, but to no avail. 

As if to further punctuate the point that Ward has a feeling won't be getting anywhere anytime soon, a pallid Fitz hobbles into the lab, clumsily brushing past Ward. He mumbles something about his stomach probably — but not necessarily — still existing within his torso, followed by a brief curse on his partner, who still remains at the table examining something or other under the white lab lights. 

"Oh come on now, Fitz," Jemma hums absently, an underlying tone of chastisement added as if by an afterthought. "We've seen worse in our CSI courses back at the Academy." 

Fitz shoots Ward a pointedly denying look, shaking his head vigorously and mouthing incoherent words as if to shout _She's lying, she's crazy, don't believe a WORD she says_ before gingerly, begrudgingly beginning to edge back to where Simmons stands. With his curiosity piqued, Ward begins to walk over, too, a confused almost-frown pulling on his lips. He's seen his fair share of injuries before, both on the field and in his Academy-mandated CSI courses, too; what worse could be waiting for him if a young woman stands unflinchingly before it with a scalpel and gloves? 

He sidles up to Simmons, peeking over her shoulder. The sight that meets him is unlike any injury he's ever seen, the irregularity causing a visceral uneasiness to nestle in his stomach. He can understand why Fitz — the engineer-not-biologist who is more wont to claim sterilized metals and computerized schematics as his domain — had run away looking sick earlier. Ward looks at the girl and knows that something isn't natural about her. 

Where Ward had shot earlier is the most currently striking feature. Simmons has sliced open the flesh, but thick black material oozes from the incision; some oily, tar-like thing Ward almost-but-can't place slides down her arm and smears across her shirt. The bullet had long since been pulled out, but something oddly chrome peeps out scantly from deep underneath the detritus. Where her flesh had been cut into, Ward doesn't see what he onc knew as the red of muscle or vein, but the thick color of her skin grown layers upon layers too deep. Black smudges it and small, worm-like strands jut out from the severed flesh like frozen parasites. Something about it is familiar, but the stomach-churning goo that paints it makes the thought hard to grasp onto. 

Adding to the uneasy knot that settled in Ward's stomach is her eyes, or maybe, her _lack thereof_. Ward can remember the earthen brown, can recall the terrifying cyan, but where eyelids lay open, there is only dark. It takes a moment for Ward to realize that her eye sockets aren't empty but simply black, an almost glassy orb that reflects blearily the lights of the lab. What lies before him isn't undead by any means, but definitely not _human_ , either. 

"What the _hell_ is this?" Ward breathes. Simmons doesn't reply and Fitz bites his bottom lip as he looks away. 


	6. okay, team meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces fall into place for Ward.

Coulson looks at the pair of scientists expectantly. So does Ward. So does May. The two scientists in question also exchange their own looks, both expectant and unsure, hesitancy tainting the wringing of her hands and the tapping of his foot. 

"Well?" Ward blurts because he is the first to grow tired of this pointless quiet, this annoying hesitance. Hesitating never got people anywhere, as Ward, a man of action, knows full well. Fitz freezes stock still for a second, Simmons inhales slowly through her teeth, and then they exchange looks before looking at the rest of their company. 

"To the question you brought us here on, our subject's not dead," Simmons announces finally, head bobbing in a quick nod Her lips are set and her eyes shine with resolve. "But there's definitely no necromancy going on here." 

Fitz nods, too, stepping forward beside his fellow scientist and speaking up. "From the looks of it, it probably isn't alien, either. We couldn't find any thing really unearthly about it." 

Simmons frowns, turning to face him. "Oh, wait; what about the—" Fitz shakes his head vigorously, stopping her mid-sentence with a hushed, "No, no; I took another look at that and I'm pretty sure that it's from earth. Although, the—" 

Coulson clears his throat, the two young scientists look up, and guilt flashes quickly across their faces before they turn back to face their audience. Ward taps his feet impatiently. 

"Hold up," May says suddenly, and all eyes are on her. "You called the girl an _it_." May's lips are set into a small frown, her eyes narrowed. She's annoyed, a little, and Ward can almost see the gears turning in her head as she waits for the missing answer to continue her thought process. Clearing his throat, Fitz speaks next. 

"That's the thing: the _girl_ isn't a girl. She — it — whatever — seems to be a robot, by the looks of it." Ward stops tapping his toes here, leaning forward a little on the balls of his feet. "A damn near impossibly realistic one, too. The craftsmanship on her is amazing! See, her skin's made of this plastic polymer, and I think there's particles of metal in it, maybe nickel or something, because it conducts heat almost as well as real skin." 

Fitz prattles on, only stopping when Simmon's subtly nudges him after he's explained the finer points of the polymer's self-healing abilities. She gestures silently over to Coulson with his eyebrow arched and the smallest hint of a smile twitching up at his lips. The scientists probably can't tell, but Ward knows that Coulson isn't too annoyed by the tangent. He's a man of action, sure, but he also knows what it is like to lose oneself in an interesting topic. He probably likes Fitz-Simmons, too, if his miraculous display of patience means anything. 

Fits mutters a muffled apology, but Coulson waives him off with a small smile. "The point, then? What can you tell us about this mystery robot girl of ours?" 

Simmons steps back a little, let's Fitz take the spotlight because this is more his area of expertise. The young man tugs at the hem of his button down shirt; it's become untucked sometime in the lab earlier today, hanging loosely over his khaki pants. 

"Simmons fixed her up pretty well; there's no major damage to her body, but her wiring was a little faulty where she was shot. We fixed that, too, and I've got my laptop hooking up to her motherboard back at the lab. It's still syncing, but maybe we'll be able to find out what her function is and some information about that scientist you were chasing." 

"It makes sense, though, how people could have thought that your scientist was a necromancer," Simmons ruminates. "From the looks of it, she's awfully realistic, and it would take quite a lot of cosmetic damage to even begin affecting any functioning capabilities. In other words, she could easily look like the walking dead." 

"Huh," Coulson notes, nodding absently. "A robot." 

The pieces fall into place for Ward: the glowing eyes, the blank eyes, the oily liquid from her skin, and the shiny chrome where her bones should have shown. _A robot._

"Is that laptop of yours hooked up yet?" May asks. "I'd like to get a glimpse into the mind of the so-called necromancer DLEIHS sent me halfway across the world with an airbus for." 

Fitz opens his mouth to reply — _Probably; yes; I think it is_ — but there's a loud, metallic crashing from the lab and all eyes lock. Ward is at the front first, finger to his lips and gun out. The rest follow carefully — and a bit fearfully in the scientists' case — as he tiptoes silently down to the lab. 


	7. that one time darcy and her taser might have been useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: ward no that's not how to deal with intruders what the heck are you doing ward _plz_

Ward prepares for the worst as he sneaks down the stairwell first. His safety is off, a fact he only briefly wonders if Coulson would disapprove of. The rest of his mind is quickly swamped with scenarios of what could be happening down in that lab. His first thought is just a simple intruder, which brings him back to wondering how much Coulson would disapprove if he lodged a bullet in their leg. It's a circular thought process, really, and Ward files away a self reminder to ask the engineer if he has any less lethal but still equally badass alternatives. Later, of course. For now, he edges down to the glass-encased lab and sees nothing out of the ordinary. 

It's true, really; the lab is exactly as he remembers it when they first boarded the airbus those few days ago. Ward's eyes narrow and his fingers tighten on the gun. The metal table in the center of the lab is empty as the first day, too. _Exactly like the first day._ Then it hits him. 

_The robot is gone_. 

Silently, Ward hurries down the last few steps down to the lab. Whoever it was that made the sound still has to be down here; there was no other way out of the bay than up the staircase he just came down. The lab door slides open in a way that is too noisy, and Ward internally winces. He clears his corners — an easy task considering the corners are table corners and only as high as his waist — and scans the ground for signs of a concealed attacker. 

Now that he's in the lab, he sees one item out of place. Fitz's laptop is knocked to the ground, lying upside down in a way that would surely make the young engineer throw a fit, wires strewn across the ground and leading somewhere behind the tall metal lab table that Ward watches carefully. A good hiding spot, indeed. 

He's only a few steps into the lab when the lab door closes of its own accord. A quick spin and the leveling of a gun abandon all attempts at secrecy as his shoes scuff squeakily on the floor, but Ward is too preoccupied by the fact that _no one was there to close the door_ to worry about the noise. Heart pounding in his ears, he lets the familiar adrenaline rush bring his battle instincts back into place. Soundlessly, Ward creeps toward the lab table. 

The lab lights flicker, the door slides open again, and Fitz's laptop begins to emit an ear-piercing sound. The young detective is at a loss at where to direct his attention because his ears are crying and the lights are now completely off, but the door seems to be working fine, opening and closing to some twisted symphony, and the amount of _done_ Ward is feeling shows well in his heavy, deliberate steps toward his final destination. He rounds the corner and steadies his aim. 

A young woman is sitting on the ground, ramrod straight with her gaze fixed forward. Ward opens his mouth to utter a warning, weapon trained down on her, but then she tilts her head all the way back and brilliant cyan orbs fade to the hazel and white of normal eyes. 

She blinks a few times, long lashes that flutter prettily, and stares into the barrel of Ward's gun. 

"Oh, it's just you. You're the one that shot me earlier!" she accuses suddenly, and Ward can't help it. He might end up regretting it later, but the young man instinctively brings the butt of his gun down on her head and knocks her out. Coulson comes down a few minutes later because he never heard an all-clear from his protégée and was beginning to get worried, but when his eyes land on Ward with a gun in his hand looking thoroughly perturbed as he stands over an unconscious figure, the old man sighs and gives Ward that _look_ again. 

"I didn't shoot her this time, sir," Ward blurts, if only just to have some semblance of sass to stuff in the presence of Coulson's _look_. It doesn't help, and the awkward silence only grows worse as the rest of the party filter down and see Ward and a gun and an unmoving body with no context. 

Uncomfortably, Ward clicks on his safety. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter 2 for more on Coulson's _look_.


	8. a robot teaches common courtesy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward repeats _robot, robot, robot_ over and over in his head.

The girl lifts herself up easily. She doesn't even look like she was just clubbed over the head. When she stands, there is no squeaking and pumping of metal and pistons like one might expect. She's scarily quiet, not even expending a groan of effort as a human might. But then again, why is Ward thinking of a robot in terms of human pain sensitivity? She probably didn't feel a thing when he clubbed her. Is she even a _she_? Whatever the robot is, decidedly feminine features are the ones that are twisted into a firm frown in Ward's direction. 

"That was _so_ rude, you know?" 

Her voice sounds surprisingly normal, now that Ward listens to it. His trained ears can pick up the almost indiscernible buzz behind it, the proof that it is coming from speakers instead of a voice box, but if he were to just quickly hear her voice, he'd never catch it. Even her mouth matches up with what she says, frowning lips that look and move just like anyone else he knows. 

"Do I get an apology? Or maybe you're just going to club me in the head again? Common courtesy usually requires an apology for this kind of thing." 

"Hey," Ward begins indignantly, but Simmons is quick to step in. 

"He's awfully sorry, really," she assures the robot/girl. "It's just that Detective Ward is new here and," the scientist leans in close, whispering in a decidedly unsecretive manner, "he doesn't really know how to act around pretty girls." 

The robot blinks a few times. Her eyes flash cyan once — Ward swears they do — but then they're back to hazel and she has a skeptic look directed at him. He's sending a glare to Simmons, who pleasantly ignores it. 

"I guess you're forgiven then, Grant Ward. You have a lot of encryptions on your personal files, by the way. Does D.L.E.I.H.S. always encrypt each file separately within their already secured database?" 

At this, Coulson steps forward, looking considerably alarmed. The entire plane is pretty alarmed by the offhand statement, too, but Coulson is the first to step up. 

"You were looking through our database," he states sternly. "Those are—" 

"Password protected, triple-encrypted, et cetera, etcetera; I know. Kind of sad how easy they are to access. By the way, McAfee? Really? There are _way_ better anti-virus programs than that." 

"Miss, we can't have you searching through our files like that." 

"Weren't you the people that had me hooked up to a computer? This guy," she points at Ward, "Shot me and assaulted me on two separate occasions!" Ward opens his mouth to defend himself, but the girl continues her tirade. "You were the ones that were trying to steal Dr. Redgrove's research, weren't you? Weren't you!" 

She stands too still, brow creased in stiff anger, and glares at all of them. Ward wouldn't be surprised if she started releasing sparks into the air, being made of metal and electricity and all. Maybe his companions thing the same thing because nobody volunteers to step forward and assist Coulson in dealing with a pissed off robot. Ward considers it, being Coulson's protégé and all, but the older man effectively negates all need for that. 

"Mission briefing file 06613," Coulson tells her. It sounds like both and order and a sigh. May's eyes flash, trying to catch Coulson's and somehow communicate to him _What the hell are you doing?_ , but Coulson is busy looking the robot fearlessly in the eye. "The password's delta-3-5-2-victor-victor-niner. We weren't the ones that killed Dr. Redgrove, but we _were_ sent to investigate. We found the lab in shambles when we arrived, but your doctor fought admirably. He killed the intruders, we believe, to protect you." 

It takes a moment before his words register. The anger falls off of her face when they do. She uncrosses her arms, a slow motion making it easy to believe that gears could be hidden beneath her skin. She blinks, and when her eyes open again, they're cyan. Ward tries not to stare, but something about her is alluringly _terrifying_. When she blinks again, the cyan fades, and she looks something akin to pained. The expression doesn't sit right on her smooth features, and he wonders if it ever will. She's eerily silent for a long time. 

"I think common courtesy is to bury the dead," she murmurs finally. "That's what people do, right? Did you people bury Redgrove?" She lets her eyes meet everyone's at least once, searching for a sign of confirmation. Hazel eyes land on Ward's last. He contemplates his options. 

"We didn't bury him," he admits bluntly. "Protocol dictates that the body be sent to a lab for further analysis. But, they might be able to find out his killer." 

He realizes that she doesn't need to blink as she stares at him with intense ochre eyes. He blinks at least three times, the human he is. It is further realization — as well as surprise — that she is anything but human when she begins to seamlessly recite the first main points of his personal files. 

"Grant Douglas Ward. Sticks to protocol. Excellent marksman. Top physical condition but proven to be unskilled and blunt in social matters." Coulson looks ready to reprimand her again, but she laughs quietly to herself, and the man pauses. 

"How spot on," she quips with a smile. Simmons is stifling a laugh and Fitz is just _staring_ at the robot as if she were a living miracle — which might be true for the engineer; who knows? Coulson and May remain dutifully uninvolved in the amusement, and Ward — Ward repeats _robot, robot, robot_ over and over in his head to prevent him from mistaking that brilliant grin as genuine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me crying over the newest episode of Agents of SHIELD. I mean, it's only Fitz tearing me apart from the inside out. And Ward abandoning me somewhere between sad and pissed off. Also Skye and May having me chant _girl power_ until I'm ready to go put on a leather jacket and fight crime myself. Oh, and not to mention coULSON BEING GENERALLY GREAT AND TAKE-CHARGE AND UGH THIS NEW SEASON IS KILLING ME


	9. dangerous thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What kind of name is Skye anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of abandoning this, but decided that I'd try once more... It's unbeta-ed, so forgive my mistakes.

Surprisingly, it's Fitz that reins the conversations back in. Or perhaps it's not so much a surprise given that he effectively directs it to the topic of the robot's mechanics. He mumbles something about energy sources and amazing computational capabilities. She only half hears him, and with expectant eyes, she gazes at him and says, "What was that?" 

Fitz cheeks are brightly flushed. What was that, Simmons? _Who_ was it that didn't know how to act around pretty girls? Or plain and not-pretty robot-girls, in this case. Fitz stammers out his answer anyway, looking somewhere between nervously excited and shyly embarrassed. Like a schoolboy trying to talk to the girl he likes, Ward mentally comments with no little amount of amusement. 

"I was just curious about, um, well... You're obviously not human — no offense, of course! — but you've got the most advanced linguistic system I've ever heard. And your information processing and response system — I mean, it's amazing! _You're_ amazing; it's like... it's like you're almost human!" 

A smile and sad hazel eyes. Ward remembers harsh, lifeless cyan, but the only word that seems to fit her eyes now is sad. "You and Redgrove would get along well," is all she says. 

He wonders where she learned all these timbres, who she observed to learn the perfectly _human_ rise and fall of her artificial voice. It's too unfairly real to be built on a database of actors and actresses and the masks they put on, yet Ward can't think of where else it'd come from; where actors all have their tells — small twitches or frowns that have long since ruined movies for Ward — he can't find a single in her. She's like a human disguised as a robot, not the reverse, and that thought, the detective decides, is dangerous. 

"What exactly," Coulson interjects, "Can you tell us about Redgrove?" 

The sadness is gone as it came. "Probably not as much as you'd think," she answers ruefully. "It'd kind of be like asking a little kid to tell you what they know about their parents; maybe you'll learn how old they are or what foods they like. Redgrove was open about the present, but not so much about his past. I used to have the capabilities to run full-body diagnostics until I found something weird about the division rate of his cells and he shut that function down. I kept it that way because I respected him." 

"What did you find?" Simmons jumped in excitedly, ever the biologist. 

"It was... _superhuman_ , the way they multiplied," the robot breathes, awe tinting her voice. "With cells like that, he could have lived for centuries— millennia, even!" 

Coulson is calling orders before she even finishes her sentence, his no-nonsense face showing that he expected these orders followed within five seconds or they were all on cleaning duty for the next week. Ward briefly wonders if the man would really make the entire crew clean; the punishment was usually aimed toward Ward in the past, but the cadet always had the strangest feeling that he was only ever assigned it when Coulson was too lazy to clean himself. Nonetheless, Fitz boots up the holoscreen and immediately places a call while Ward politely drags the robot off her seat and away from the camera's view. 

"What the hell?" she exclaims, and Ward ignores her fist slamming against his wrist. "Grant, let me go!" 

At the exclamation of his name, he rounds on her. "It's _Ward_ to you, robot. And you're not going anywhere. We are calling the lab that Redgrove's body is being examined at, and either you stay here and stay quiet where you can watch without being seen, or we lock you up where you can't see, but can scream as much as you damn well please." 

Her glare is sharp. 

"It's _Skye_ , not robot," she grounds out eventually. "And I'll stay here; just let go of me." She jerks her wrist around in his fingers, and he lets go as if he has been burned. As he stalks back to where Coulson was discussing with the head scientist of the DLEIHS cadaver lab, he remembers Fitz saying something about how her skin conducts heat just as normal skin would and rubs at the warm flesh of his hands. 

What kind of name is Skye anyway? 

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, concerns or feedback are always welcome!


End file.
